Foxy
by AlassinSane
Summary: Coming home drunk? Or coming home worse than drunk? The difference is crucial. The hard part is being able to tell. - Noel/Dave
1. Chapter 1

Dave looked up from his cold cup of coffee as he heard the front door open, then slam shut again. He sighed in relief; Noel was late tonight.

Getting up from the stool he was perched on, he followed Noel into the living room, and looked over him to check he was alright. He then paused in the doorway to watch him. There seemed to be something slightly different tonight. Usually he would laugh to himself as he listened to Noel's mostly unintelligible alcohol-induced ramblings, but tonight they were somehow different.

He watched, but stayed tense, just in case.. well, he wasn't sure why. There was something different about his walk, too. It wasn't the usual drunken stumbling; it was smoother, with more gentle, gliding steps. Dave frowned as he listened to the usually incomprehensible half-sentences; the whispered words he could make out weren't the sort of things Noel would normally say.

"Look. Look. Look at it. Look at the little foxy. Look at foxy."

He was at the window, staring out and tapping a changing, uneven rhythm on the windowsill.

"Foxy, foxy, foxy, foxy. Isn't foxy cute..."

The tapping stopped and Noel stiffened, his voice growing louder as he gripped the sill and rocked himself backwards and forwards.

"No. No, not cute. Not cute at all. Don't like it. It's bad. Bad foxy, bad. Badbadbad..."

He lurched and spun around suddenly, crouching down and fingering the carpet delicately, his voice gentle again.

"Aw, foxy. I love you, little foxy. I love it. It's fun. Fun foxy, foxy fun."

He sprung up and into the middle of the room, his voice low and childlike, "Let's play a game with foxy."

For a moment he stood still, eyes bright and staring, before turning and pacing up and down quickly. Three steps left. Turn. Three steps right. Turn.

"Foxy wants to play a game."

He started to wring his hands tightly.

"Foxy wants to play a game."

His hands flew apart, and he flapped them agitatedly. Dave's frown deepened and he made a move to step in. Definitely not normal drunk Noel.

"Foxy wants to play a game..."

Noel turned again, faster this time, then seemed to just collapse in on himself. Dave rushed in as he fell to the floor, his mind whirling with thoughts of Noel hitting his head on the coffee table and passing out, or...

"Shit, Noel!"

He helped Noel sit up and held either side of his face, staring into unblinking eyes that seemed to look right through him. As he looked, Dave noticed that the bright blue eyes were missing something important, something so very Noel that Dave had fallen in love with all those years ago - and it shocked him.

"Games aren't fun. No-one likes games. Foxy isn't fun. Isn't. Isn't. Is not. Is not, is not, is not. Not, not, not..."

He carried on muttering "Notnotnot," as Dave carefully lifted his limp frame and carried him into their bedroom. Stripping both himself and Noel down to their pants, he laid down with the pale form, and hugged him close to his chest. He held Noel tight under the comfort of their old paint splattered duvet, as if the smaller man might suddenly leap away from him.

"Come on Noel, snap out of it. What have you been up to, eh?" He whispered into the messy auburn mop. Noel's muttering stopped, and he seemed to relax, his tense jaw muscles visibly unclenching and his warm body melting to the shape of Dave's.

"Ok now?" Dave murmured, soothingly.

Noel sighed, and Dave felt his breathing even out at last. He pushed the worries about his boyfriend to the back of his mind and concentrated on getting some sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Dave woke up slowly, letting his mind muddle through the layers of unconsciousness before reluctantly opening his eyes. In his sleep, he must have turned to face the window, because suddenly the bright red of the sunrise was assaulting his sleepy gaze. He wondered what had woke him up at this ungodly hour, after last night.

_Last night._

Suddenly worried, he sat up and turned to Noel's side of the bed. Empty. Their clothes were still laying on the floor, but they were more rumpled and spread around, as if someone had stumbled through them.

He frowned as a loud crash met his ears. He got up and threw on the nearest thing - Noel's purple and green tie-dyed dressing gown, and ran into the kitchen. The sight that greeted him was Noel - still in just his boxers - standing with his hands protectively over his head, surrounded by all the pots and pans they owned.

"Noel? Are you alright?" Noel brought his hands down slowly.

"I'm sorry. You're mad, aren't you? I swear, I just opened the cupboard and--"

"Of course I'm not mad!" He tried not to look puzzled at how edgy Noel was as he walked towards him. He placed his hands on his bony hips and looked searchingly into his eyes.

"Noel?"

"Yes?" Noel replied, apprehensively, his emotions weirdly over-exaggerated.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dave chuckled, and Noel's expression changed instantly.

"I'm making cakes!" he exclaimed, his eyes incredibly bright, bounding out of Dave's grasp to watch the almost-done cakes in the glowing oven.

That was when Dave noticed the dark circles under his boyfriend's eyes, and the state of his normally artfully arranged, or at least 'stylishly messy' hair.

"Did you get any sleep? You look shattered."

"I'm fine!" He replied quickly, bouncing across the room and flipping the switch on the kettle.

Dave's brow furrowed slightly, but he let it drop. Putting the pots and pans away, then making himself a cup of coffee, he watched Noel flit about energetically, making icing and adding red food colouring drop by tiny drop, to try and get the perfect shade of pink.

As Dave sat on a stool, sipping his coffee and trying to wake himself up, he studied Noel. The raven-haired man seemed to be incredibly euphoric. Not that he wasn't usually so full of energy, but this morning he seemed particularly hyper.

When the cakes were done, he got them out and started slathering icing on them even though they were still hot. His tongue poked out between his lips in concentration as his slightly jerky movements meant there was more icing on the worktop than on the cakes.

Noel's movements slowed as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Dave got up and stood behind him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

"...Beautiful," Dave said, looking down at the sugary mess on the counter. "Is this icing explosion our breakfast?" He squeezed Noel playfully to show he was joking.

Noel made an unintelligible noise and jerked Dave's linked hands apart, running from the room.

Dave's brow wrinkled concernedly. Noel was all over the place this morning.

He found him in the bathroom, throwing up violently into the toilet bowl. Dave knelt next to him, and gathered his long hair back tenderly.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you that much!" he joked, stroking the nape of Noel's neck soothingly. But as Noel spewed for the third time in a minute, Dave realised there was something very wrong. He watched Noel silently and worriedly; he'd seen Noel throwing up many times, but this time something seemed different.

When he had finished, Dave wrapped the dressing gown around his naked shoulders and cleaned him up, whispering gently to him the whole time. He felt Noel's body go limp against him, so he lifted the sleeping man into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. Reminded of the previous night - well, that morning really - he lay down with Noel tight to his chest once more.

Remembering his ramblings, Dave's mind wandered, coming up with a million and one crazy explanations, all equally absurd but, scarily, equally possible.

Was he over-analysing it? Had Noel simply decided to experiment with new cocktail combinations, more potent than usual? Or had he taken something worse, like drugs? Was he high on some dangerous mix of drugs and alcohol? Or, he could be going mad? Was his sunshine boy having a mental breakdown of some kind? Was he struggling with some terrible mind illness?

_Stop it, Dave! This isn't helping and most of those are completely out of the question. Aren't they?_


End file.
